


Too F*%!ing Deep

by fuzzballsheltiepants



Series: A Mewment Like This [4]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew's conflicted, Law Student!Andrew, M/M, More references to backstory, Oblique references to child abuse, Oblique references to noncon, and Neil is a mystery, much less than the books
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 06:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14764565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzballsheltiepants/pseuds/fuzzballsheltiepants
Summary: Andrew tries to convince himself that he doesn't need more drama in his life.  Renee believes otherwise.  And Neil is too intriguing for Andrew to walk away.





	Too F*%!ing Deep

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a little bit less humor and more emotion than the previous three. There is some oblique reference to Andrew's history, which is only slightly different from the books. More info in the end notes, and if you're worried, HMU on Tumblr @fuzzballsheltiepants. Thanks once again to @tntwme for the beta!

The breath whooshed out of Andrew as he landed flat on his back.  Again.  He really needed to get his head in the game.  
  
Renee put her foot lightly on his chest, not pushing him down, but not letting him up, either.  “I think that’s enough for today.”  
  
“It’s only been fifteen minutes.”  
  
“And I’ve put you on the ground three times.  What’s wrong?”  
  
Andrew pushed up on his elbows and gave her a flat look.  “Nothing.”  
  
She took her foot off his chest and walked to the edge of the mat to grab two bottles of water.  Tossing one at Andrew, she drank half of hers before recapping it and settling smoothly down next to him.   
  
Andrew knew from experience that she would wait all day for him to talk.  He got to his feet.  “Let’s go again.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Damnit.  Snagging his towel off the mat, he rubbed it through his hair and started to leave.  
  
“You don’t have to go,” Renee called.  “We have another forty minutes.  But keep fighting like this and you’re going to get hurt.”  
  
It was beyond tempting to tell her to fuck off, but three years of sparring weekly had taught him that she would just smile through any tantrum he threw.  If he didn’t know she was absolutely capable of killing him and then praying sweetly and sincerely for his soul afterwards, it would make her annoying as fuck.  As it was, he grudgingly respected it.  
  
Taking a series of deep breaths, he went through some grounding exercises and pushed a certain blue-eyed conundrum out of his head.  When he was ready, Renee got to her feet and came at him without mercy.  It was a good thing everyone was used to him wearing long sleeves no matter the weather; he spent most of each week recovering from the bruises she gave him every Tuesday.   
  
Once their hour was up and he had showered, she joined him for a quick breakfast at the cafe across the street.  Technically her martial arts studio opened at nine every day, but she had been meeting him there two hours early all semester so he could fit in a session before his externship.  “Have you seen Bee recently?” she asked him as she sipped at her herbal tea.   
  
His flat look didn’t faze her.  “Last week.”  
  
“Do you need to make another appointment?”  
  
“After all these years with her, she’s never managed to cure your meddling, has she.”  Renee gave him a serene look and he wondered, not for the first time, what the hell kind of herbs were in her tea.  “However distracted I might have been at the beginning, it has nothing to do with my personal brand of disaster.”  
  
The way she just sat there and watched him, he knew she would wait him out.  Most people saw it as patient generosity.  Andrew recognized it for what it was.  Renee may look like a fawn, but she was a pit bull at heart.  All solid tenacity, disguised as grace.  
  
“I went out to dinner last night.”  She knew he never went out alone.  “And the guy…there’s something there that’s not right.”  
  
“Our type of not right, or theirs?”  
  
To someone else, that would sound like nonsense.  “I think ours,” he said slowly, thinking of scars and involuntary flinches and dark looks in pale eyes.  “Or close enough.”    
  
“Are you going to help him?”  Of course that would be her next thought, Good Christian Girl and all.  Sometimes Andrew really did question why he bothered with her.  
  
“It’s not my job to help him.”  
  
“No,” Renee smiled, “but it might be a nice hobby.”  She finished her tea and set the mug down.  Andrew ignored her and her expectant expression.  “Or is he another Roland?”  
  
It was as close to judgmental as Renee ever got.  She had never been thrilled with Andrew’s brand of casual sex, even with all the boundaries and conditions he set.  She never lectured, but she _looked_ , and that was enough.  “No.  He’s nothing like Roland.”  
  
He regretted speaking when he saw satisfaction flit across her face.  Fuck it.  There had to be someone else he could spar with, someone who wouldn’t see into and through him so well.  “I have zero evidence he wants or needs my help.”  
  
“Then why is this bothering you so much?”  
  
Enough.  Andrew pushed back his chair and grabbed his coffee.  Renee mirrored him, ignoring the glare he shot her as she followed him to the door.  “Andrew,” she said once they were out on the street, “I’m sorry for pushing.”  
  
He handed her his coffee cup so he could put on his jacket, then took it back, considering.  “Have you ever talked to someone where you know they’re telling the truth, you can feel it, you can practically taste it, but somehow you know they’re lying at the same time?”  
  
“Yes,” Renee said simply.  He looked at her.  “You.”  
  
Okay, fuck her.  
  


*****

  
Really, he should have known.  He’d had two almost-good days in a row, and the universe did not grant that to Andrew, ever.  By ten o’clock in the morning, he needed the day to be over.  Andrew stared at the screen, though he didn’t need to read the words on it.  They had long been committed to memory.  State of California v. Spear.  
  
He had read the case back in first year.  It had been surreal, seeing what to him had been blood and terror and pain, all in neat emotionless font.  And now it was on the list of cases that were considered relevant to the case the DA was taking to trial in a couple of weeks.  
  
Andrew had those case details memorized too.  
  
Betsy had reminded him last week when he mentioned the case that this was why he was mortgaging his future to go to law school, and then chosen an externship with the DA’s office.  Not like he had forgotten; the lawyers who had put Drake in prison for a few decades had seemed like superheroes to him, relentless in their determination for justice.  Probably Andrew should have revered the cops, too, for finally taking Drake into custody.  He still could hear the click of the handcuffs and see the flashing blue and red lights.  But he could not forgive their blindness, the way they had watched him with suspicion instead of their buddy Drake when Andrew had flinched away from his foster brother.   
  
He shook himself out of the past.  There was a paper to write, one that would take him the rest of the day.  As irritating as Renee could be, he silently thanked her as he found his breathing rhythm and got to work.  
  
It was after six when he finished.  It felt like every single joint in his body popped when he stood and stretched, the muscles he had used that morning aching pleasantly.  He emailed the paper then headed out, getting nods from the handful of attorneys and paralegals he passed.  
  
Naturally, it had gotten colder during the day.  Overlaying the usual odors of the city was the scent of impending snow.  He pulled out his phone as he walked towards the subway, feeling—not guilty, that was ridiculous, but _something_ —about the fact that he had told Neil he’d be free tonight and then not even checked his phone all day.  
  
 _Do you still want to get dinner?_  
  
Then, several hours later: _I take it that’s a no_  
  
This was his perfect opportunity.  Neil already thought he’d been ghosted, Andrew could just get on with his life and drag himself through this miserable fucking case and not have to worry about getting in too deep with some guy who probably wasn’t really interested.  Or who, if he was, would no doubt want more than Andrew could give.  
  
He got on the subway and headed towards his apartment.  It was still busy enough even though long past rush hour that he had to stare people out of his space.  Assholes always thought they could crowd in on the short guy, but Andrew had the slightly psychotic glare perfected.  The only good thing that came out of spending four months in juvie, really.  
  
Halfway home he pulled his phone out again and opened the text window.  Andrew didn’t have friends.  He had his miniscule family, a handful of useful people like Renee and Bee, and three or four safe casual lays that he met up with here and there.  His fellow students were incidental.  There was no time left, no room left, for anyone else.  Yet he pressed on Neil’s name.  
  
 _Busy day heading home now_  
  
A minute passed before Neil replied.  _There’s a thai place a couple blocks from the coffee shop_  
  
Andrew knew it.  He debated going home to get his car versus getting off the subway a stop early.  _Be there in 20_  
  
Thai Palace was packed.  Neil was already in line, eyes wide beneath his ratty oversized hood.  Andrew was increasingly sure Neil purposely bought the worst possible clothes he could find.  Even the suit pants and shirt yesterday had looked like it was from the sales rack at JC Penney’s or some shit like that. He wondered if he did it to keep people from hitting on him.    
  
Judging by the way a couple of girls were looking at him, probably not.  Though he wasn’t sure Neil would even notice if they did.  Andrew felt a bizarre urge to greet him with a kiss that thankfully passed as quickly as it came.  Well, almost.  
  
Neil’s smile when he saw him lit up his whole face.  “Hey.  I’ve never seen this place this busy on a weekday.”  
  
The words were stupid, they were boring, and something settled in Andrew’s chest anyway.  Fuck.  Neil was like an addiction, he decided; he had the same pull as nicotine.  Andrew had started smoking at fifteen, and by his fifth cigarette he’d been hooked.  Even though he only smoked a cigarette or two most days, he’d never managed to quit.  
  
He really, really should’ve let this whole thing die.  
  
“It got really cold again,” Neil said, intruding onto Andrew’s thoughts.  Seriously, he was talking about the fucking weather.  “I saw several lawyers today with their hands in their own pockets,” he added, gesturing at Andrew’s coat pockets which, yes, were currently warming his hands.  
  
“Bold talk for a pickpocket.”  
  
Neil grinned wider.  “We don’t care about the cold.  Actually makes it easier, when people are wearing layers.”  
  
“Are you even actually a linguist, or is that just your cover story?”  
  
Neil laughed and said something in a language Andrew didn’t know.  Not that that was particularly difficult; he knew a fair amount of German and a few words of Spanish, both courtesy of Nicky and his husband Erik, but was only fluent in English.  It seemed odd to think of himself as “fluent” in his native language.  
  
“That proves nothing,” Andrew said in his clumsy German.  
  
“You speak German?”  Somehow Andrew was not surprised that his accent was flawless; he sounded like Erik.  
  
“A little.”  The line moved up.  Some college-age dudebro who was talking too loudly to his college-age dudebro buddies backed into Neil, shoving him up against Andrew.  Neil grimaced a wordless apology; Andrew just planted his feet and let Neil lean against him until the guy stepped away again.  He tried not to notice that Neil smelled like the soap from the gym, or the lean wiry feel of him; he tried not to miss it when Neil had space to move away.  
  
Jesus Christ.  He was turning into a high school girl.  This was pathetic.  
  
But it was strange.  Even with the guys he got off with, he didn’t like feeling them up against him.  He didn’t know why it was different with Neil, and he kind of hated it.  If he believed in regret, he would have regretted ever texting the number on that fucking card.  He’d have to burn it when he got home, a little ceremonial fire in the sink or something.  Maybe then this itch would get out from under his skin.  
  
They finally reached the counter and placed their order.  Neil looked around at the handful of tables and his face fell.  “There’s nowhere to sit.”  
  
“This is only just occurring to you?”  
  
“I don’t know, I guess I expected some tables would clear or something.”  He shrugged.  “I only live like a block and a half up the street, we could go eat there if nothing opens up.”  
  
Andrew looked at him sharply.  “You want to invite a man you barely know to your apartment.”  
  
Wariness suddenly crossed Neil’s face.  “I didn’t really think of it like that.  I feel like we’re friends, but if that’s weird…”  
  
“I’m pretty sure your coworkers are going to have something to say about it.”  
  
“Oh, shit.  You’re right.”  They reached the register and paid for their food, then went to the end of the counter to wait.  “I don’t have to tell them.”  
  
“I find it interesting that you’re more worried about what your coworkers will say than about the prospect of me knowing where you live.”  
  
The dark laugh Neil gave felt like a door cracking open.  “Will you believe me when I tell you that if you give me trouble I can handle it?”  
  
That should absolutely not have been a turn on.  
  
Neil’s apartment was small, spare, and generic.  The only thing of interest was the veritable mountain of cat furniture that took over one corner of the living space.  Neil’s cat—King Fluffkins, Andrew recalled—was a long-haired dark tortoiseshell who took one look at Andrew and fled.  “Don’t take it personally,” Neil said.  “She’s like that with everyone new.”   
  
They sat down to their noodles.  Neither of them spoke, but the silence didn’t feel strained or heavy.  It felt like breathing deeply after spring rain.  The ugliness that Andrew had spent the day summarizing started to seem more distant, blurry almost.  He no longer felt phantom hands on him, not when he was so intensely curious about what lay behind Neil’s scarred innocence.   
  
“What are you thinking about?” Neil asked when Andrew put the cover back on his food.  
  
“Wondering how you ended up here.”   
  
Neil made a face.  “I…”  He visibly changed his mind about what he was going to say.  “The job, mostly.”  
  
Andrew got to his feet.  Neil put his container of noodles on the table and followed, looking confused as Andrew lifted his jacket off the back of the couch.  “This,” Andrew said, gesturing between them, “isn’t going to work if you’re going to lie to me.”  
  
“I’m not lying.”  
  
“Just tell me if you don’t want to answer a question.”  
  
Neil huffed.  “I’m not lying.  The job isn’t the whole reason, but it’s a big part of it.”  
  
“And the rest?”  
  
“The rest I’m not going to tell you.  But I think you’re smart enough to realize someone doesn’t end up with a face this fucked up for no reason.”  That door Andrew had glimpsed at the restaurant was cracking a little wider.  For the first time since he had met Renee, he wondered if someone else’s darkness might swallow his own.  
  
“Your face is not fucked up,” was Andrew’s only reply.  He let his jacket drop.  
  
“I thought you said we weren’t supposed to lie.”  
  
“I’m not lying.”  There was no point in explaining it, the way the scarring somehow made the planes of his face more beautiful.  The way it begged to be touched with delicate fingers and gentle lips.  The way it dragged a softness out of Andrew’s heart that he hadn’t known existed, a softness that still was not pity.  
  
“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”  
  
“I don’t.”    
  
They just stood there, staring at each other.  Andrew kept waiting for Neil to blink, to shrink away, to curl back into himself, but he didn’t.  _What is this?_   He didn’t know.  All he knew was that it felt like a conflagration on his skin, and in that moment he wanted to burn.

**Author's Note:**

> It occurred to me after I made Andrew be a law student, with this version involving Drake going to jail while Andrew was 13, that at some point he would probably look up that case. Worse, that he might have to for school/his job. So...sorry.
> 
> Thanks for all the comments, they mean the world to me!


End file.
